


My destiny in quite a similar way

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Official First Order policy would dictate we treat you no different from any other prisoner from Naboo or Alderaan II. We would only recognize royalty once we’d subjugated your planet." Ben shivered at the thought, his eyes dilating. He lowered his voice. "Would you like to be subjugated?"</p>
<p>"No," said Ben unconvincingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My destiny in quite a similar way

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Written for the [tfa kink meme](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3467.html?thread=6277771#cmt6277771);  
> 2) there should be some sort of trigger warning here. Pretend dub-con, bad fashion decisions, lol issues, you take your pick;  
> 3) I’d like to say I have no regrets, but Hux is too into it to fully appreciate how hideous Ben’s clothes are. They’re hideous.

Hux had not even removed his coat before Prince Ben Organa-Solo came storming out of the bedroom. "General Hux," he said, with barely restrained fury, "this is degrading."

He was, Hux noted, wearing the white tunic, the one that might charitably be described as stopping mid-thigh, the one that was more lace than actual fabric, the one with a long line of small, wild-grown pearls adorning the closures at the back. It must have cost enough to pay for rations for a squadron of Stormtroopers for at least a year, and while the same could be said of most of Prince Ben’s outfits, the rest tended to have a great deal more fabric.

It took Hux a moment to recover and hang up his coat. "I’m sure I don’t know what you mean."

Ben stamped his foot. He was wearing white sandals that laced halfway up his calves. "It’s insulting enough you keep me locked up in your rooms, and refuse me my rights under half a dozen treaties. But to have gone through my luggage, and removed all my robes of state—"

"And you expect me to regret that?" Hux murmured, slowly bringing his gaze back up to Ben’s face. "I won’t deny your robes are impressive, but at the moment I’m sorely tempted to throw them out the airlock."

"You wouldn’t _dare_."

"Oh," said Hux, "I don’t know, Your Highness. You haven’t been the most cooperative of prisoners." As he passed Ben on the way to the bar, he trailed his fingers over the midriff of the tunic, leather gliding over lace, and he could hear the way the prince’s breath caught in his throat. "And I have been such a considerate jailer." He poured out two tumblers of whiskey, pressing one into Ben’s hands, which, he noticed, were shaking. He hoped there would be no broken glass this time.

Ben drew himself up to his full height, but in the sandals he had no hope of looming over Hux. He seemed to realize this, and tossed his hair to make up for it. "I wouldn’t call locking me in your rooms and denying me due process considerate. Let alone your constant w—unwanted attempts on my virtue."

Hux took a sip, smiling. "You would prefer a cell?"

"This _is_ a cell. I fail to see any difference."

"Oh, my prince," said Hux. He’d learned, early on, not to call him by his name, but the title was acceptable. Occasionally, the title with the possessive was as as well, and this was one of those times, Ben leaning reluctantly into the caress, "I can assure you, there is quite a difference. You should be grateful that it was the Finalizer that found you; other officers would not be so indulgent."

Ben jerked back. "Other officers wouldn’t throw my robes of state out the airlock."

"I only threatened to." Hux took a step closer, then another, until there was barely enough room for the tumblers of whiskey between them, and reached behind Ben’s back to trace his fingers up the line of pearls. "Official First Order policy would dictate we treat you no different from any other prisoner from Naboo or Alderaan II. We would only recognize royalty once we’d subjugated your planet." Ben shivered at the thought, his eyes dilating. He lowered his voice. "Would you like to be subjugated?"

"No," said Ben unconvincingly.

Hux abruptly drew his hand away and stepped back. "Is the whiskey not to your liking, Your Highness? I know you must be accustomed to only the very best, but I would have thought a thirty-year-old Cdamon an acceptable substitute."

"I’m not drinking anything you give me," he said, pouting, and putting the glass aside instead of dropping it, or throwing it at the wall, which was definitely an improvement. "You might have—spiked it, with some drug, the better to achieve your designs on me."

"I have no intention of having you drugged," said Hux. "Let me assure you."

And, without waiting for an answer, he took another drink and pressed his mouth to Ben’s, which opened easily against his, eager for it, swallowing the whiskey and continuing the kiss, his hands coming up to cup Hux’s face. When the kiss finally ended, the hands stayed there, and Ben stared at him, his face flushed and his eyes wet. "What have you done to me?" he whispered. "I don’t understand."

"Oh, my prince." Hux brought his free hand up to brush Ben’s hair back behind one ear, feeling a swell of tenderness for this sweet, spoiled, naive, utterly impossible brat. "My prince, I haven’t done anything to you yet."

Ben let himself be led to Hux’s bedroom, to Hux’s bed. He faltered, every few steps, trembling with emotion and looking lost, and Hux would turn and press a kiss to his hand and tug him onwards. When, with a little push, he sat down on the bed, his knuckles clenched at the edge of it and he wouldn’t meet Hux’s gaze.

Hux knelt between his legs. "You’ve never done this before," he said, quietly, and Ben’s eyes jerked up, guiltily, before looking away. Hux had to steady himself for a second, a hand on each of Ben’s knees. He leaned in and nipped gently at Ben’s throat. "Believe me," he said, as he continued down towards Ben’s collarbones, his hands sliding all the way up the back of the tunic, to the very first of the closures, and undid it, "it is nothing you should apologize for."

"I wouldn’t," Ben panted, as Hux slowly undid one pearl after the other, mouthing his way down the front of the tunic as he went. He chose to interpret that as Ben refusing to regret waiting for this, as Ben willingly surrendering this to him, and the brush of Ben’s hand on the back of his neck seemed to confirm it. He had wanted this for so long he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t. Official First Order doctrine proclaimed that monarchies were an old, useless tradition to be done away with, that royalty were parasites foisted onto society by an accident of birth, and that there was nothing special about a prince. But Hux found himself disagreeing on that point, and not solely because of this prince. Royalty was raised with only the best their planets could provide them, and therefore if Prince Ben Organa-Solo wanted this, Hux was—well, the meritocratic judgment of the First Order had already pronounced him superior to his peers. But the meritocratic judgment of the First Order didn’t have that body, that mouth, that hair, that temper.

The lace was scratchy under his lips, and from the way Ben squirmed and tried to hurry Hux’s head down, ticklish against his skin. Hux let out a huff of laughter, and let him. The cry he made when Hux flicked his tongue over where his erection strained against the tunic more than made up for it.

He undid the last button, and dipped his fingers down, and faltered. He drew his head back from the rapidly widening damp spot, and looked up into Ben’s eyes. "I don’t remember removing the undergarments from your luggage," he said.

"You would have, if you’d thought to." Ben was flushed, panting, and imperious, his modesty thoroughly routed by impatient, desperate desire. "Take your gloves off. I want to feel your skin."

"You never learned to ask nicely, did you, Your Highness?"

He stared down at him for a long moment, and then he smiled, slightly, and slid his thumb over Hux’s lower lip. Hux parted his mouth and sucked in the tip, and watched Ben’s eyes darken even further. "Take it all off," Ben finally said, his voice rough. 

Hux started with the gloves, slowly, where his prince could have seen had he broken eye contact. He dropped them on the floor, then unbuttoned his jacket and tugged it off. It would be a mess of wrinkles later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He undid his flies, then hesitated, before reaching out for Ben’s sandals on either side of him.

Ben’s thumb pressed against his tongue, and Hux drew back. "You did say to take it all off, Your Highness." He stroked his hands against Ben’s calves, luxuriating in the strong muscle under the soft hair, and untied the knots, sight unseen. "And I did tell you—"

"Anything I desired," interrupted Ben. "Anything I desired, but my freedom."

Hux slipped off his undershirt, kissed the inside of Ben’s knee. "And if you were free, would you have this?"

"No." Ben stepped out of the sandals, let Hux run his hands up his thighs, push the tunic up past his waist. Seeing his cock, Hux could hardly refrain from leaning back in, taking it in his mouth, and so he missed what the rest of Ben said.

Another point on which Hux disagreed with First Order doctrine: there was no shame in this. He could ascend the galactic throne and still that would never give him the kind of power over a man as having that man’s cock in his mouth did. Ben’s hands returned shortly to his hair, and it returned Hux to his senses; if he was going to do this, he was going to do this properly.

It was the work of an instant to raise Ben’s tunic over his head, to kick off his own boots and trousers, and undershorts. He laid Ben out on the bed, grabbing the spare pillow and urging Ben’s hips up. He even took off his socks before reaching for the drawer at his bedside table, for the special lubricant he’d ordered for this occasion. It was scented with a heady, pungent spice, and Ben exhaled audibly when Hux opened the vial.

Hux once again knelt between his legs—above him, this time, sucking bruises into his throat that not even the robes of state could have hidden, while he slicked up his fingers and slid the first in. Ben groaned, and clenched, and gripped Hux’s hair with one hand and dug bloody crescents into Hux’s back with the other, while Hux worked him open. He’d barely added the second finger before Ben said, "Enough. Now."

Hux let his fingers linger on Ben’s prostate. "I want to do this properly, Your Highness. I want you to remember—"

"Now. _Please_."

He dropped his head to Ben’s chest for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. "So you do know," he said, finally, and granted the royal request.

"Oh," said Ben, when Hux was seated fully in him, "oh, so this is what the First Order means by everything in its rightful place." It sounded like it was meant to be teasing, but the wonder in Ben’s voice, the way it shook, belied that. 

Hux had intended his prince’s first time to be slow, gentle and tender, but that wasn’t a pace he could keep. Ben was strong enough to meet him at it anyway, urging him on, and as Hux settled into a rhythm that tested his self-control and elicited gasps and groans and snatches of nonsense from Ben, he gave in, as always, to the most ridiculous of fantasies. To commandeer some of the New Republic’s medical abominations so that together they could continue the royal line, breed a dynasty worthy of its name. To create a palace in the Outer Regions for Ben and those children. To introduce him to his parents—and why not, when Brendol Jr. had no prospects but a disturbingly extensive collection of xenophilic pornography, and Sheev had recently married a Stormtrooper over vernal holidays, a union that had lasted until he’d sobered up and begged their parents to get it annulled? What was there to be ashamed of in a prince, a prince Hux had won over, a prince he loved, a prince who cried so astonishingly as he came on Hux’s cock alone? A prince who dragged him back down for a kiss, and in doing so made Hux’s hips stutter helplessly, and Ben whispered more nonsense into his mouth, and for a second, contrary to First Order doctrine, the universe stopped.

Later, he pulled out and let himself collapse against Ben’s side, running his fingers down the other man’s chest possessively.

After a few moments, Ren turned his head. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Hux snorted. "After that? I’m seriously considering locking you in here and never letting you leave." That drew a small, self-satisfied smile from Ren. He’d thought, when he’d first asked for this, that it would be something Ren would tolerate once, and they’d never speak of again. He hadn’t expected it to be something they regularly indulged in—seven times so far, and this was the third time Ren had surprised him with it. Hux wasn’t entirely sure what it was Ren got out of it—the courtship aspect, perhaps, or the chance to put up a token fight—but he wasn’t going to question it, wasn’t going to jeopardize this with trying to understand what was going on in Ren’s head. Certainly he wasn’t going to ask why Ren would abandon a perfectly good pillow for the bony comforts of Hux’s shoulder, or why he could feel Ren’s tears against it.


End file.
